


Recondite

by SuperNova53



Category: Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Docking, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Ficlet, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 06:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13631049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperNova53/pseuds/SuperNova53
Summary: Tony doesn’t say another word the:‘you’re coming with me’is implied as he turns and sashays towards the exit.Or:Fancy parties in fancy hotels are dull.Thank goodness for the existence of broom closets!





	Recondite

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun writing this so... Enjoy! _Although-I probably wouldn't read it at work_ XD.
> 
> In case you were wondering about the title, Recondite - hidden from sight - kinda thought it worked on a few levels. ;)
> 
> Also would be _very_ interested to hear what you guys think... I got back into writing a few months back and have spent that time _pretty_ much writing stuff like this-hey it helps get over the nerves!

Tony looks like a Forbes centerfold parading through the crowd in his navy pinstriped suit. The way the dimmed lighting darkens his features into something exotic and exaggerates the white glint of his teeth every time he flashes his signature Stark smirk. He keeps catching Steve’s eye, he’s somehow managing to do it from ten feet away over the rim of his champagne flute, giving him the: _‘I’m so getting a piece of you later’_ look while he rolls the stem of the glass between his thumb and forefinger. It makes Steve’s mouth go dry every-single-time.

They haven’t exactly told anybody that they’ve been sleeping together for the past two months; Steve couldn’t even remember who had made the first move, it just sort of… _Happened,_ then _kept on_ happening and neither of them had questioned it.

They’ve kept up the public façade of ‘bros’, the odd flirtatious remark from Tony drops under everybody’s radar _because that’s just Tony._ Behind closed doors, it’s all clothes being ripped apart, muscles, sweat, bed sheets being destroyed and that one time they did it in Tony’s workshop and Steve put a dent in the metal bench.

Tony’s circulating like the socialite he is; Steve’s not seen him short of company once tonight, not that he’s jealous, he’s had a crowd of people buzzing around him all evening at this ridiculous SHIELD Gala they’ve all been dragged to. It just makes it hard to keep tabs on how many times he’s seen Tony snag a glass of champagne from the passing waiters, not that it’s his business how much he does or doesn’t drink, more of keeping an eye on Tony was a tough habit to break, even more so now that the lines of friendship were being crossed–enthusiastically, energetically and… _repeatedly._

Steve chokes on air when Tony catches his eye again deliberately letting his lips linger on the edge of his glass and raising one eyebrow. His suit's getting tighter for sure, he slides a finger under the collar in an attempt to loosen it and does his best to look attentive at what Fury was prattling about, pretending that he hadn’t _already_ undressed Tony in his head, popping buttons off his shirt, feeling the delicious give of his skin under his fingers and hearing him moan-

“-Luckily Steve was there to save everybody’s ass.” The small crowd around him erupts in laughter at the conclusion of Fury’s anecdote snapping him back to the present, he plays off the startled look and pink twinge to the tips of his ears laughing along with them, hoping that nobody wants a ‘this is what happened next’ follow up because he’s not got a _clue_ what they were talking about.

“Something funny Cap?” Tony appears in his peripherals, eyes sparkling when they catch the light, he’s shed his jacket and Steve has no idea how he got from the other side of the room to be standing right next to him so quickly.

“Err…” Steve can’t help the secret smile that starts to pull on his lips, the twinge of pink that was painting his ears turns to a full-blown blush of the cheeks when his mind goes back to kissing down Tony’s chest, dropping to his knees, Tony’s hand fisting his hair to a fucked up blond mess…

“I was-” Tony tilts his jaw up and nibbles his lip thoughtfully looking for the right excuse that’s going to pull Steve away, if only he _knew_ all he had to do was snap his fingers. _“Going to get some air…”_ he says, something mischievous glittering in his eyes which flit over Steve as he strategically adjusts his jacket to cover his crotch, he’s pitching a tent so big it feels like it could provide shelter for _at least_ three.

Steve doesn’t miss the way Tony’s pupils are blown, his lips shining and pouty, the way his hair that was just-so when they left now has a cowlick where he’s run his hand through it, how could he? It’s driving him to distraction. Tony doesn’t say another word the: _‘you’re coming with me’_ is implied as he turns and sashays towards the exit; brushing off a few would be admirers on the way with a wave of his hand.

He’s already out in the corridor by the time Steve catches up with him, he looks perfectly placed amongst the modern art décor and orbs of light hanging from the ceiling. Steve swallows’ anticipation; a quick glance behind them confirms they’re alone before he presses his hand to the small of Tony’s back, fingers rubbing over the purple silk of his waistcoat and steering him further from the party.

Tony’s got the swagger he gets when he’s had a few too many, he swings his hips and snickers crowding Steve into an alcove that marks the entrance to a supply closet. “Do you know how hard it is to keep my hands _off_ you in public?” He doesn’t even let Steve answer before he’s stretched up pulled him by his neck and stuck his tongue in his throat.

Tony tastes tingley-sweet, it’s the champagne, it rolls off his tongue and his lips onto Steve’s. Tony tastes expensive, Tony smells expensive, he’s managed to reach around him and open the door of the closet pushing him back, his head connects with the hanging light sending it swinging, his foot catches a mop bucket and at that point, Steve reminds himself that Tony _is expensive_ and sleeping with him comes at a premium roughly the cost of his dignity.

“What are you up to Stark?” He breathes through the darkness and traded air desperate for the second-hand taste of champagne from Tony on his lips again.

The door clicks shut and the harsh fluorescent light blinks to life. The confinement of the space is only exaggerated by Steve’s size, he can stand up straight _just._ Any further to the left and he’s going to hit his head on the fixture again. The acrid smell of chemicals hangs thick in the air and the shelves are lined with bleach and cleaning rags. _Not their finest location,_ not that Steve cares because Tony’s sliding his hands under his jacket, pulling it off his shoulders, he’s got fingertips that feel like they’re everywhere when they coast over the thin cotton of his shirt. They linger over his nipples that have gone as hard as bullets from Tony’s touch.

“Do you have any _idea_ how long I’ve wanted to get you alone?” Tony breaths, his voice dropping an octave or two and rasping from the back of his throat. Steve’s not sure if he wants an answer. Steve’s not sure he _can_ answer, everything about this situation should not be turning him on this much-but everything about it feels so forbidden. The location, (OK not ideal, but hey who’s around to judge?) the danger of being caught, because it’s _Tony_ who’s unlatching his belt and pulling his pants down to his knees; Tony Stark who everybody wants, and Steve is _actually getting_ -it’s the possessive side of him that he’s never been proud of. He chokes on a gasp and catches Tony’s elbows in each hand when he strokes the outlined shape of his cock through his shorts.

Tony hands are hot through the cotton and the friction of the fabric grazing over taut skin is something else, it lights every nerve on fire, his hips rock forward. _“Tony.”_ He breaths when a hand slips under the waistband. _“Tony.”_ He catches Tony’s wrist and holds him still, “I can’t… ’s too…” He bites his lip when fingertips brush bare skin, little bursts of heat rippling out from their epicenter making him shudder.

“What’s the matter Cap? _Gun gonna go off in my hand?”_ Steve groans squeezing his eyes shut when fingertips turn into a full hand wrapping his shaft and his boxers are dragged unceremoniously down to his knees.

Tony sidles closer, Steve’s hand that was gripping his elbow slides up his arm and circles muscles that flex on instinct, he lets go of Tony’s wrist; lets him move his hand up and down, flinching every time Tony rolls his foreskin back to the point where it's almost painful and the cold metal of his watch catches the bare skin of his stomach where his shirt’s come loose.

Tony’s not watching his face, he’s watching his hand that jacking Steve off. A slight furrow in his brow and the way the tip of his tongue licks at his top lip says he’s up to something. His face is red, flushed all the way down to his neck, his skin’s burning hot when Steve lolls his head against his shoulder because he feels like he might go limp and come all over the vinyl floor if he doesn’t lean on something solid.

The hand that suddenly disappears makes him whine, muffled into Tony’s shoulder. It’s followed by the jingle of Tony’s belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper and rustle of fabric as he drops his pants. Steve jerks his hips forward on instinct, he wants to rub against Tony, bring himself off with skin on skin – Tony’s wonderful olive skin that Steve can _never_ get enough of when they’re alone. Tony _needs_ to touch him again he’ll damn near beg if he has to. _“Tony.”_ He repeats; it’s a mantra conveying his every need in the two syllables of his name. Tony’s fumbling between them, puffs of teasing laughter mixed with his shallow uneven breaths tickle Steve’s neck.

“I’ve _always_ wanted to try this.” He breathes shameless and wicked against the shell of Steve’s ear. His chest rolls forward pressing against him, pushing Steve back with his weight to get him to stand up. Tony shuffles closer slightly hindered by alcohol and the pants wrapped around his ankles, bites his lip when he looks down and uses his hands to line himself up.

Steve’s hand grips Tony shoulder; it’s going to bruise down to the bone. _“Jesus, Tony…”_ Tony might have protested if he wasn’t so preoccupied, pushing Steve’s foreskin back exposing the oversensitive head that’s glistening and dewy, rubbing his own cock against it with his spare hand and sucking in a sharp breath at the contact. Steve’s knees could buckle, and his eyes are screwed shut when Tony works his skin over them. He not sure he ever agreed to this, the overwhelming feeling of being fused to Tony in such a way because that’s what it is - overwhelming. The slight stretch of his skin over Tony’s cock, the slick rub of their heads together, Tony’s hand that’s working him into a fervor. The calculated strokes along both of them, the complete contrast of the roughness of Tony’s palm that catches on the soft velour of his foreskin.

Tony’s watch rattles when he speeds up and Steve feels like he’s going to fall apart, everything’s getting slick and messy, he’s panting, gripping Tony like he’s desperate like he’s the only thing that’s still holding him vertical.

Tony likes to kiss when he comes, he’d bristle and deny it if Steve every brought it up. He drags Steve in by his collar with his spare hand. Bashes their teeth together, licks and sucks and moans at his bottom lip while his hips jerk forward, making a hot sticky mess between them. _“Oh fuck.”_ Steve gasps, it’s too much, Tony’s hand is slipping in the sudden wetness and Steve holds onto him for dear life, bucking unevenly - his jaw clenched so tight he thinks he might break a tooth. Tony’s still pulsing- planting frantic sloppy kisses on his neck, his grip tightening giving friction and pressure where Steve needs it most until he’s coming too; clinging to Tony whose fetched up against his chest, grabbing fistfuls of his silk waistcoat, _wishing_ it was his fingernails digging into Tony’s bare skin instead, he groans into his shoulder as his whole body gives out to the dizzying waves of ecstasy that makes his ears ring and leaves his knees shaking.

It’s a minute or two before Steve releases the vice-like grip he’s got Tony in and lets him sag against his chest before he unsteadily takes his own weight again.

Tony had a cowlick in his hair when they started, now it’s well and truly fucked, a stray curl stuck to the sweat that’s on his forehead, he looks overheated, oversensitive with his cheeks flushed pink whilst he eases them apart and does a vague attempt at a clean-up. “The cars out the front.” He says quietly, not looking up. Steve can hear the shaking of his breath as he pulls his clothes back on. “Come home with me?” Something in Steve's chest jumps, an ember he keeps burning for Tony suddenly stoked to a fire because, in that one simple request, which might be nothing but might be something, Tony gives him hope- it’s not love. Not even close, but it has potential and Steve can work with that. He watches Tony sway a little as he buttons his pants looking down in concentration, it warms him to his core that tomorrow, for the first time he’s going to wake up next to this man.

“Sure, Tony… Sure I’ll come home.” He pauses waiting for Tony to look up. _“With you.”_


End file.
